


New Skin

by cygnaut



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Furiosa, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Flashbacks, Max Stays, Omega Max, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, my sincere apologies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"Have you ever had a mate?" It’s not the subtlest approach, but Max hasn’t flirted with anyone in over a decade.</p>
</blockquote><p>Post-movie A/O AU where Max stays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a [prompt at the kinkmeme](http://madmaxkink.dreamwidth.org/450.html?thread=7874): "Max is an extremely rare male omega (they're rare in the first place, and very few have survived the apocalypse). He has even MORE of a reason to be desperate to escape the Citadel full of perpetually-high, testosterone-powered alpha and beta males."

Max feels as if he could sleep for days. He's done it before, when he's found a safe enough place to do so. He thinks this might be such a place.

Normally he wouldn't stop, not even for a short rest.  He knows that as soon as he lies down he'll begin to feel all of the scraps and burns and bruises he's accumulated over the past few days. Better to keep moving. But instead he lets Furiosa take his hand as they ride upward on the lift to the Citadel. She holds him there. Keeping him still and at her side.

At the top, he lets her take him down a long corridor. It’s claustrophobic and dark just as he remembers it being, but this time, there are no hands reaching out to catch him and drag him down, trapping him here. Instead, there's only Furiosa's hand tight on his wrist and her strong back leading the way forward.

She takes him to the room where the organic mechanic worked and he falters. Not that he'd ever expect her to cage him, but the smell of the place is choking--sweat and urine and vomit and dried blood like a sickening haze in the air that seems to strikes him physically across the face. He pulls his shirt up over his mouth and coughs, his eyes watering. He can't see the cages but he knows they're hanging overhead, one with the door open waiting for him.

Furiosa realizes her mistake and turns around, pushing him back the way they came. She says something, but Max doesn't understand it as "sorry" until they emerge from the closed air of the corridor and into a wide open room suffused with light.

He hears laughter and raises his head in confusion to see--women. There are three of them. One is the oldest remaining Vuvalini, a young woman by the old world’s standards, but a matriarch by the new one’s. Max doesn’t recognize the other two women. They are the healthiest people he has ever seen--vast women with fleshy alabaster skin folded like layers of soft white pillows.

Furiosa puts her hand in the center of his chest and backs Max over to sit on a table next to the two healthy women. She nods to the Vuvalini and murmurs something Max doesn’t catch.

The Vuvalini must be a healer, because she opens a bag at her hip and begins taking out bundles of herbs and small bottles of different colored liquid. Max is not sure of her name. The Vuvalini seem to guard their names closely, but he assumes she would tell him if he asked. For now, he’s too tired to bother.

Max feels hollowed out and drowsy, which is normally a frightening feeling, but now he lets himself tilt back his head down and lower his eyes. Furiosa will wake him if anything happens.

The Vuvalini takes his jacket off and tugs at the bottom of his shirt, coaxing him with soft words to raise his arms. He lets her pull his shirt over his head and push him to lie down on his stomach on the smooth surface of the table. He closes his eyes as he feels a damp cloth run across his back. She cleans the raised lines of his tattoo and then dabs some kind of salve over it. The salve feels cool and soothing, easing the pain there that's been flaring up whenever he moves too much or sits against it.

He's so comfortable and sleepy that he lets the Vuvalini turn him over and attend to a spot of road burn on his neck. He forgets that his shirt is off. Forgets that she'll see his bare stomach and the telling scar there.

He must fall asleep because in one moment she's cleaning a wound on his shoulder and the next he feels her fingers on his stomach, running across the rough line that bisects his gut.

"Is this...?" she whispers.

Max snaps awake, his heart pounding in his chest as he realizes with a shock what his inattention has cost him.

The Vuvalini takes her hand away as he startles but smiles at him, and he knows then that she knows. Until now she's looked at him warily, as a not-quite-trusted ally. He was a brother-in-arms, but still only a brother. Now that restraint melts away and her smile is warm as she turns and says, "Furiosa, why didn't you tell us you found yourself a man-mother?"

The Vuvalini makes no move toward him, doesn't touch him aside from the ghost of her fingers lingering on his stomach. Yet still Max feels a hand at his collar, twisting the shirt he isn't wearing to choke him as the sharp point of a knife presses against his neck and hot breath blows across his face. "Look what we have here, a breeder!" A huff of laughter as the knife presses closer, cold metal and bright pain flaring against his skin. "Now, are you going to be a good boy for me?"

Max must lash out, because the next thing he feels is a stinging pain in his left arm. He has no memory of how his hand came to be raised in front of him, nor of how he ended up on the floor in the corner with his back pressed against the wall.

There's a scuffle by the door and Max turns his head to see the Vuvalini retreating from the room. She has her arms out as she moved backwards, steering the other two women away from him and out into the corridor. She shuts the door behind her.

There's another noise, a soft tap as someone steps lightly across the floor. Max doesn't need to turn his head to know it's Furiosa. Even through the haze of unwanted memory, he still knew where she was standing.

She crouches down, leaning against the wall directly across from him and sliding down into a squat. She adjusts her stance once she's down and rests her hand on her knee. "I'm sorry. She didn't mean to startle you. She should have known better."

Max licks his lips, tasting the dust still coating his face from the road. He can't summon up the breath to speak, so he nods instead.

He stays where he is, pressing his back hard against the wall as he tries to slow his breathing and the sharp beating of his heart. The skin of his back burns, each line of the tattoo he's never seen standing out in a bright line of pain.

"She was surprised," Furiosa says, speaking very softly as if she trusts that Max will be able to understand her even in the midst of a howling sandstorm. "Surprised and happy. You're very rare these days, you know. There was a male omega among the Many Mothers once, but he died before I was born. I heard stories about him--the last man-mother, maybe the last on earth. Or so we thought."

Max tries to speak, but it comes out as a choked grunt. He tries again. It’s still hard for him to find words, but Furiosa makes it easier. "Childbirth?"

Furiosa tilts her head, peering at him with her one good eye that isn’t swollen shut. "Hm?"

"He died giving birth?"

She nods and Max looks away. His hand goes unbidden to the scar on his belly. Childbirth kills most of them these days, just as it kills so many women. Childbirth, or the novelty of their existence. Novelty attracts attention and attention is rarely good.

"You're lucky the organic mechanic didn't realize," Furiosa says. "Joe considers man-mothers and woman-fathers a deformity. Considered," she says, correcting herself. "He thought we polluted the gene pool."

Max shifts. His spot on the floor is getting uncomfortable. "Then..." He looks down at his hands, unable to look at her. "Where did that leave you?"

Furiosa smiles. "Not breeding. But that's all right, we have our other uses."

Max nods, not surprised the fraternity of the Citadel would find room for an alpha like her.

Furiosa braces her hand against the wall behind her and eases herself up to stand. She’s clearly still in pain from her wound, and Max feels a pang of guilt about making her kneel down to talk to him. He can tell that she’s a fast healer, just like he is, but it will take her a long time to fully recover from this.

"There's a room for you,” Furiosa says. “If you'd like it. Private, with a door that locks."

Max nods and stands, ignoring the pain in his bad knee as he rises. Furiosa gives him a nod in response and turns to leave, not checking if he's behind her. Max snatches up his jacket and struggles into his shirt as he follows.

The corridor feels even smaller now. The air trapped inside of it is stale and carries a sharp scent of sweat, like War Boys are lining its walls instead of white rock. Max forces himself to follow Furiosa, sticking close behind her. He holds one arm out in front of him as he walks, his hand extended toward her back. He doesn't touch her, but he stays close so he could reach out if he needs to.

She takes him up several flights of stairs, climbing through narrow turnings higher and higher into the heights of the Citadel. The corridors become wider as they go, opening up so that two or even three people might walk side-by-side.

Furiosa stops climbing finally and leads him down a hallway lined with doors. Each one is unmarked, but she seems to know exactly where she’s going. She stops in front of the fourteenth door and tests the latch. It opens into a rough niche carved into the rock, a room just wide enough for a bed, a high-backed chair, and a few pieces of wooden furniture for storage. There’s a single window carved in the thick rock to create a vent to the outside which lets in a narrow shaft of light to pierce the gloom.

Max takes a cursory glance around as he throws down his jacket and sits on the bed. There’s a curtain hanging over a small closet to one side, but otherwise there are no entrances except for the one they came in through.

Furiosa closes the door and points to the wooden bolt next to it. “Lower this to lock it behind me.”

Max stands back up at that, one hand reaching out for her. “You’re going?”

“I--” she hesitates, probably the first time he’s ever seen her seem uncertain. “I thought you would prefer to be alone.”  

“No,” Max says. “Stay, please. Unless you’re needed elsewhere?”

Furiosa looks toward the door, turning her back to him. She hesitates again before lowering the bolt into place and locking them safely inside.

Max sits down again and sighs, feeling relieved already. Furiosa takes the chair and watches as he begins unlacing his boots. It feels good to kick them off and clean out the sand from between his toes.

He takes off his belt and jacket next, but leaves on his shirt and pants. Even with someone he trusts, it feels too vulnerable to strip naked. At least not immediately.

The sheets on the bed are cool and surprisingly smooth. Max rubs his face against them and breathes deeply as he settles down. He turns over onto his side, searching for a position that doesn't hurt too much. He's not sure why Furiosa hasn't joined him on the bed. There’s plenty of room for two if they press together, and he thinks he’s made his intentions clear enough. Maybe she's worried about spooking him.

He clears his throat and stretches, cracking his neck as he tilts his head to look at her over his shoulder. "Have you ever had a mate?" It’s not the subtlest approach, but Max hasn’t flirted with anyone in over a decade.

She lets out a dry huff of air in what might be a laugh. "You mean a proper mate? No. You're one of the only omegas I've ever met."

Max can't help but ask. "Did you know, from the beginning? About me?"

She shakes her head. "In the rig, while you were sleeping the first night, I suspected. But I didn't know for certain until now."

It's an admirable bit of restraint--never asking him or satisfying her curiosity through force. He'd be surprised, but he's used to her strange gentleness now.

"I had a mate," Max says. "Before. And a son."

Furiosa nods. "Your son left you that scar?"

Max turns away from her and lies more fully on his side. "No."

Furiosa says nothing in response and Max goes silent. He’s lost his taste for talk.

He can hear her breathing clearly in the quiet room and he closes his eyes to listen better. He could fall asleep like this, but he doesn't want to. He'd rather stay in the moment and savor her closeness behind him and the quiet safety of her presence.

A sharp twinge in his bad knee makes him turn over onto his other side. Furiosa's head is tilted against the high back of the chair, but her one good eye is open, a narrow slit glimmering in the dim light.

"Why don't you lie down?" Max asks. She makes no move to get up so he pats the top of the blanket next to him. Even if she doesn't want him, she could clearly use the rest. "You don't need to keep watch."

"Maybe I do," Furiosa says, her eyes casting toward the door. "The War Boys have fallen in line but who knows, someone might get ambitious in the night."

"The door's locked," Max points out. "We'll hear them coming if they try to break it down."

Furiosa sighs and Max isn't sure if she'll give in. Her hand tightens on the arm of the chair and for a moment she's poised between thought and action. He holds his breath, waiting until she pushes herself up and rises to her feet.

She sits on the bed in stages, first resting one leg next to his head, then putting her hand down, then shifting around to pull the rest of her body up and folding her legs underneath her.

She’s only a few inches away from his head. Max reaches out, bridging the last distance between them. He rests one hand on her knee.

Furiosa frowns as she looks down at his hand. She touches the back of his wrist and tries to push him away. "Don't. You don't owe me anything, Max."

Max is reasonably certain that's not true. In fact, he’s pretty sure he owes her everything. But that's not what she wants to hear right now. "Please," he says instead. "I need you."

He doesn't really, not in the sense he's implying. But even in this dead world where they might be the last of their kind, it seems to pull at some frayed cord of custom inside of her. Her face softens and she dips her head, and as she moves closer to him he knows that she'll yield.

She stops a hairsbreadth away from his lips, close enough to look straight into his eyes. "You want this?"

He exhales, almost a gasp. "Of course, yes, now would you--"

She cuts him off before he can finish, pressing her mouth against his in a hard approximation of a kiss. Max brings his hands up to clutch at her shoulders and pull her in closer, one hand running up the back of her neck and over her head, feeling the soft bristles of her close-cropped hair.

He tugs at her upper arms, pulling insistently until she moves closer and swings one leg over his waist to straddle him. She climbs onto him awkwardly and her hand is hesitant against the side of his face, but her mouth is hot and desperate against his own. Max thinks he could lie here forever, feeling the weight of her body bearing him down into the mattress and the warmth of her lips.

Her teeth are sharp against his lips until he guides her into a softer kiss, mouths moving together gently at first and then sloppily as heat begins to kindle between them.

Max runs his hands down her back, feeling the strength of her muscles and sliding down to hold her hips. She presses harder against him as he squeezes encouragingly and pleasure flares in his stomach, hot and insistent. She reaches between them to tug at the bindings around her chest, loosening them and then pushing up his shirt so they can press together, bare skin against bare skin.

Max strokes her shoulders and her arms, taking her hand on one side and touching the scar at the stump of her arm on the other. He’s struck suddenly by how beautiful she is, lean and smooth except for the white lines of scar tissue marking out the years of her life. He kisses her harder and muffles a grunt as she pushes one knee between his legs and rubs her thigh against him. He can feel the hard nub of her own arousal rutting up against his hip and suddenly he has to touch her.

He reaches between their rolling bodies, struggling with the clasp of her fringed belt and pushing down the waist of her pants to cup his hand over her. She grinds into his palm, face twisted with the intensity of his touch. She's fully hard now, swollen and extended several inches out from her body. It's not enough to penetrate him, but plenty to rub against or a solid mouthful. Jess was the same way. She always needed an extra boost of hormones to get to her fullest possible length.

"I wish I was in heat," Max says, leaning up to kiss her neck.

Furiosa stills and he pauses in response, unsure if he did something wrong.

She pushes him away, her forearm braced on his chest, and he pulls back to give her space. It takes her a moment before she can look at him. "Max--I can't give you a child. I'm sterile. There were no breeding alphas allowed in the Citadel."

Max blinks, thrown for a moment and still caught in the haze of pleasure. He shakes his head. "No, that's all right. I don't want any. Sorry, I only meant I wish you could get inside of me."

"Oh.” She laughs, the sound startled out of her. It has a strange effect, making her seem awkward and almost childlike. Max wants to see it again immediately. "That I can do."

Her arm tightens around his waist and she rolls sideways, pulling him along so he's on top of her. She undoes his belt and Max kicks down his pants with her help, getting free of the last of his clothing. Her hand slides down to squeeze his ass, getting him to grind down against her as she slips her fingers between his legs.

He's slick enough already that she can get two fingers inside of him easily. He hasn't been properly fucked in ages and it feels amazing, especially when she hooks her legs up around his waist and angles herself so he's rubbing against her own slickness.

"Can you?" she asks, shaking her head when Max only looks at her in confusion. "Hold on." She tightens her legs so his movements still, held in place by her body. She shifts her hips, moving until the head of his cock is nestled further down and he realizes what she wants. He reaches between them to steady himself as he slips inside and then it's nothing but wet heat and building pleasure from all sides as he thrusts back and forth between her fingers inside of him and his cock inside of her.

After he comes he crawls down to lick her out, enjoying the breathless noises she makes until she's had her fill and pulls him back up to lie beside her.

Max collapses onto his side, but keeps close with one arm slung over her waist. She rests her head against the crook of his neck and pants against his shoulder while he rubs one hand over her short hair over and over again.

Furiosa only lets him lie still for a moment, nudging him to his feet before she even catches her breath. He stands blearily and is too confused to resist as she herds him into the closet.

The stone floor inside dips into a low depression, dropping down several inches and worn smooth by years of feet standing in this same spot. This is confusing because... it's a closet. Why would anyone stand in here?

Max looks up as Furiosa crowds in behind him and notices a series of holes drilled into the ceiling. They must be for ventilation, maybe letting out hot air trapped inside the room. There seems to be some kind of mechanism hidden in the ceiling as well as a long pull chain hangs down from one of the larger holes. Could it be a fan of some kind?

Furiosa kisses him, pressing him against the smooth stone at his back. It feels pleasant enough, but Max is confused why she wanted to move in here when they have a perfectly comfortable bed to fuck in.   
  
Furiosa reaches over her head and tugs twice on the chain. There's a mechanical click and a rustle of air above them as Max tips his head back in confusion. A rush of cold air hits his face followed by a stream of cool water. There's _water_ coming down from the ceiling, a whole fountain of water and, of course, it's not a closet it's a _shower_.   
  
He remembers then, when he first caught up with the rig in the desert. He saw the women spraying water on one another. He thought at the time that they didn't know how to work the tanker's hoses. It was such a waste, all that clear water pouring into the ground, it was the only thing he could assume. But now he understands. They have so much water up here they can use it to _wash_.

He forgot. When was the last time he took a shower or a bath? Years and years and he forgot how good it feels, the coolness of the spray on a hot day sweeping over him and washing away all the grime and sand.   
  
He realizes he's smiling and looks to see that Furiosa is smiling too, amused by his delight.   
  
"A shower!" Max says, pointing up into the spray.   
  
She laughs. He could definitely get used to seeing her laugh. "It's good, isn't it?"  
  
He nods, tilting back his head to drink and marveling in the unending stream of cool water. "I'll never be able to leave now that I've seen this."  
  
Furiosa doesn't answer, but he sees her smile as she wraps her arm around his shoulder and leans in against his side to share the shower's spray.


End file.
